


Milk Me, Mummy

by BadlyWrittenNewcastleFanfiction



Category: Newcastle Drag Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:21:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23879833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadlyWrittenNewcastleFanfiction/pseuds/BadlyWrittenNewcastleFanfiction
Relationships: Mutha Tucka/Latrine Lurka





	Milk Me, Mummy

A/N: I’d like to make a formal apology to all parties involved for this rancid garbage. This is Antonio’s fault. I blame him. I feel gross.

_Mutha’s hand gripped the blonde hair of her daughter. She groaned as Latrine’s pink lips wrapped around her tip. A tickling scratch from her facial fuzz made Mutha’s thigh twitch, and the little smile she could see in Latrine’s eyes as she peeked over her sunglasses, made Mutha’s heart leap._

_Latrine hollowed her cheeks once, and pulled away off Mutha’s cock. She tilted her head and pushed her glasses up her nose. “You like that, Mutha?”_

_“Yes.” Mutha breathed. “But call me Mummy.”_

_Latrine smiled. “Sorry, I didn’t hear that?”_

_“Call me Mummy.” Mutha said louder._

_“Still didn’t hear.”_

“Latrine! Call me Mummy!” Mutha shouted, sitting upright in bed as she awoke with a start.

Breathing heavily, as the fright from her dream subsided ever so slowly, she placed a hand to her bare clammy chest, feeling the quick drumming rhythm of her excited heart. It was the third dream of its kind that week, and the more Mutha thought about the dreams, the more turned on she felt. And the worse she felt.

“Nightmare?” Said a voice from her open bedroom door.

Mutha gasped and looked over to the door. Latrine stood in the dark doorway, naked, with a glass of milk, and a little smirk on her face. She took a long sip of the milk, and moved her sunglasses down to cast her eyes over the tented duvet on Mutha’s lap.

“Erm,” Mutha tried to smooth down the duvet to disguise her extensive erection, “yeah. Just a nightmare.”

Latrine nodded, pushing the glasses back up. “You sure? Looks like you might have been having a lovely time.”

“No, it was a bad dream.” Mutha swallowed, trying to ignore her throbbing arousal. “Very _very_ bad.”

“Okay.” Latrine said, turning away. “I believe you,” she cast a look over her shoulder, dropping the sunglasses once more to look her in the eye, “ _Mummy_.”

…

Latrine liked to wander around with her tits out.

All. The. Time.

Mutha was used to it. Latrine was her daughter, she had essentially birthed Latrine, and had encouraged any and all promiscuity from her. She wanted Latrine to be liberated, to feel as beautiful as Mutha knew she was.

However,

The tits were out.

All. The. Fucking. Time.

“Is there any chance at all that you could just wear a normal t-shirt?” Mutha asked, as Latrine wandered through their living room eating a bowl of cereal in a full-length ball gown, strategically cut to reveal both nipples.

She was feeling particularly irritable, having failed to fall back to sleep the night before after the mortification of Latrine hearing her cry out in her dream. Latrine hadn’t mentioned it, but Mutha knew she remembered it all. Mutha certainly did.

The word ‘ _Mummy’_ was constantly forcing its way into the forefront of her brain. The way it had rolled from Latrine’s tongue like melted marmite from hot toast.

Latrine looked down at her chest. “Why should I cover my nipples?”

“Because it’s _distracting_.” Mutha said with a roll of her eyes. “I don’t need to see your boobs at all times of the day.”

“Free the nip.” Latrine smiled and gave the peace sign.

Mutha shook her head. “And why are you wearing sunglasses inside?”

Latrine smirked. “It’s on brand for me, _Mummy_.”

Mutha paled. “Don’t call me that.” She snapped. “That’s absolutely minging.”

Latrine leaned over the sofa, long body bending to become level with Mutha’s face. She whined, long and high pitched, and then whispered. “That’s not what you said last night… _Mummy_.” She kissed Mutha’s cheek, before standing up.

Latrine stood in front of her and dropped her spoon onto the floor. She removed the sunglasses and threw them to the side. Maintaining eye contact the entire time, Latrine parted her legs as far as the tight dress would allow, leaned back, and poured the remaining milk and cereal onto her exposed chest. The white liquid dripped down her body as if she were a Grecian marble statue…if that statue were covered in Frosties and milk.

Latrine drew a finger up the milk on her chest and popped it into her mouth. She sucked her finger sensually. “Frosties,” she said, “they’re more than good, they’re great.” She laughed and dropped the bowl, not even flinching as it smashed into pieces.

Latrine waved as she left the room. Mutha watched her go, eyes dropping to her arse swaying in the fitted milk-saturated gown.

“Oh, Christ,” said Mutha, “I’m fucked.”

…

It was a warm night, and the plumes of people in the Yard were spilling into the street, conversing casually through the open windows, and hurling kindly abuse through the door. Mutha smiled. This was her home, where she thrived. There were no worries here, no guilt, no anguish.

Well, no. There were plenty of worries, guilt, and anguish in the Yard, but in comparison to how she had been feeling in her house, it was a cakewalk. On the stage, Mutha drank and sang, and took the piss loudly over the mic out of anyone walking past.

From her position on the platform, Mutha could see the entirety of happenings in the Yard. She could see Pebble was searching for her shoes by the bar, and that Big Daddy Plop was talking animatedly to Tragidy at the door. She could even see Ivy and Rachel Rear going at it in the far corner. She felt like God.

Baron walked past dressed as Jesus, and Mutha suddenly felt a little less like God. Baron held up a goblet to her in greeting.

“Fine night for it, eh, Mutha?” Baron grinned.

“Fine night for what, exactly?” Mutha asked.

Baron winked. “Fine night for anything.” He laughed and drank from the goblet. “Lots of incest in the Bible, Mutha. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“What did you just say?” Mutha hissed. “How do you know that?”

Cara wandered over, giggling. “He’s magic.” She said, hooking herself onto Baron’s arm. “Let’s go Barry _._ I want to be cold and shamed lying naked on the floor in the next ten minutes. _”_

Baron patted Cara’s arm and shook his head. “Don’t listen to her. She’s drunk. Have a fun night, Mutha.” Mutha watched as the couple walked away, Baron and Cara propping each other up as they stumbled.

“Mutha? Thought you preferred _Mummy_.” Latrine smirked from the side of the stage.

“When did you get there?”

“When you were talking to Jesus and Harry Potter.”

“I’m at work.” Mutha growled. She couldn’t stop her eyes raking over Latrine’s body in the pale blue dress. Her mouth went dry at the sight of her exposed nipples. She swallowed. “Leave me alone.”

Latrine pouted. “But _Mummy-,”_

Mutha grabbed her upper arm as she stormed off the stage, dragging, Latrine through the Yard after her. The crowds parted as they passed. Mutha opened the door to the disabled toilet and shoved Latrine inside.

“Get in there.” She muttered, stepping in after her.

At the mirror, Kitana stood, startled, phone in hand, mid solo photo shoot.

“Excuse me.” Kitana said. “Why are you in my office?”

Mutha jabbed her thumb in the direction of the door. “Piss off, Kitana.”

She bobbed her head from side to side. “You can’t talk to me like that, this is _my office.”_

“This is the disabled toilet. Not your office. Now get out. You don’t live here.”

Kitana blinked. “Actually, I do.”

“Oh.” Mutha looked over at Latrine. Latrine shrugged, and Mutha turned back to Kitana. “Okay, well, maybe download the Zoopla app or something, that’s not my problem, now get the fuck out.”

Kitana left the toilet, and Mutha closed and locked the door behind her. She turned back to Latrine, who was perched daintily on the latrine.

“Right,” said Mutha, “let’s get something clear.” She pointed at her daughter. “ _You_ need to stop calling me _that.”_

“Calling you what?” Latrine said with a shit-eating grin. She looked down at her nails, feigning disinterest.

“You know what.”

“I don’t know. You’ll have to tell me.”

Mutha sighed. “Stop calling me,” she looked down at her feet, “ _Mummy_.”

“Oh.” Latrine said, standing up. She took a step towards Mutha. “I thought you wanted me to call you _Mummy_. I thought you liked being called _Mummy_.”

“Stop it.”

Latrine stepped closer. “Stop what, _Mummy_?”

“Latrine, I’m warning you.” Mutha said breathlessly. “Stop this.”

Only a breath between them, Latrine pouted her pink lips. She tilted her head to look above the dark lenses of her glasses. “ _Mummy.”_

In her tights, Mutha’s cock twitched. She gasped. “Latrine, stop, or I’ll….I’ll…”

“You’ll what?... _Mummy.”_

Mutha grabbed Latrine by her bare shoulders and pulled her to her, crashing their lips together. The heat between them spiked as Mutha pulled away to kiss Latrine’s bare chest. She breathed in the acrid scent of old Frosties and sour milk, making Mutha instantly hard. Usually she would be concerned about discovering she potentially had a lactose fetish, but given she was currently humping her daughter’s leg, Mutha decided to worry about one thing at a time.

Latrine moved her hands to the hemline of Mutha’s dress and pushed up under it. She ripped her tights at the waist and pulled them down.

“You owe me eight pound fifty.” Mutha gasped.

“How about I suck your cock instead?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Falling to her knees, Latrine began removing all of the hardware that kept Mutha’s cock contained.

“Here.” Mutha said. “You’ll need an Alan key to get it out. And a Philip’s head screwdriver.”

Forty five minutes, later, Mutha’s dick was freed from its prison, and Latrine’s mouth was on her….just like in her dreams.

“God, Latrine. That feels so good.”

“Would you perhaps say ‘more than good’?” Latrine asked.

“Yes.” Mutha rasped. “More than good. Great.”

“Oh , _Mummy.”_

Lips darkened and wet with saliva, Mutha thought Latrine looked like an angel. An angel wearing aviators, like Tom Cruise in Top Gun, but without the one front tooth in the very centre of his face. (Tom Cruise genuinely has a tooth in the very centre of his face. It’s probably because he’s a scientologist. Crazy.)

“I want to be fucked, _Mummy.”_ Latrine husked from her knees. “ _Mummy_ please can I be fucked.”

Mutha nodded.

Latrine stood and stepped away to take the lid off the toilet cistern. “I keep some things in here and other toilets, too, actually.” She said. “I’m a latrine lurker…oh, that actually has a ring to it.”

“I only care about one ring right now, Latrine.”

“Right.” Putting a hand into the cistern, Latrine pulled out a butt plug with an orange and black furry tail. It dripped toilet water. She grinned. “Eat your heart out, Carole Baskin.”

“But, Latrine.” Mutha keened. “We don’t have any lube and as you know, ice is not a lube.”

“Don’t worry, _Mummy_.” Latrine said, putting her hand back in the toilet. She pulled out a carton of UHT. “I’ve got some full cream that’ll do quite nicely. Milk me, _Mummy._ ”


End file.
